


Crossing a line

by Norbury



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Kinda, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve is sweet on Tony, Tony Stark Has A Heart, references to homophobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 10:05:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13738548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norbury/pseuds/Norbury
Summary: Living for Steve, is about drawing lines, and not crossing them, but the new world might make him think differently.In which Steve comes out to Tony, and they have a heartfelt discussion about their sexual identities.





	Crossing a line

**Author's Note:**

> Please interact with me, leave kudos or even a comment! :)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Sorry if there are any typos lmao)

Living for Steve, is about drawing lines, and not crossing them.

He looks at the lines he draws on expensive paper, that sits neatly in his sketchbook. They are sharp, but ultimately unsure and careful. They look strong, but closer inspection reveals them to be strong, yes, but uncooperative and lacking, aggressive even; they do not work together, they do not come together in the way Steve originally wanted them to. And the intensity of the lines, it’s, well, not necessarily a good thing; it feels like Steve is holding the pencil too strongly, forcing it to behave in ways it doesn’t want to. It looks like he’s angry and scared, and he hates the sketch he’s working on. He absolutely hates it. It’s ugly, and, and, and, unfocused. He’s unfocused.

War – life – is about making a plan and sticking to it. Go from place A to place B. Fetch person X and do thing Y with him and or bring him to place Z. Do this, do this, because if you don’t then we might as well kill ourselves and our country right now. This, THIS, this is important – more important than your life, than the life of hundred men! Make a plan and stick to it, see it to the end, and if you must change the little details, who cares, as long as the main goal remains the same. Remain focused, remain in control, remain calm, and remain obedient.

Steve finishes his drawing. It’s ugly in his opinion, horrible. _Look at that linework!_ But he doesn’t erase the warm colored lines off the page, doesn’t tear the page out, doesn’t cover the drawing with something. He lets it be. Sometimes he just needs to push out a bad idea, a bad drawing, to make room for better things. He leaves the sketchbook open on his desk; lets the drawing air out a bit. Perhaps it’ll look better once it breathes alone.

\--

It’s cold outside, Steve thinks, and asks JARVIS, who confirms his hunch. He asks how cold, and then puts on the same jacket he had already chosen anyway, even thought it’s too light, and he may become cold because of it.

Steve runs normally. He punches things, lifts things, and kicks things, usually. Today he feels like it’s a slow day, the type of day you can’t outrun. He feels like walking around. Looking at things, and listening to nothing. It’s a slow, slow day, hopefully. He takes a smaller, cheaper sketchbook and some pencils with him.

Of course, Tony happens, and there’s a change in Steve’s plans, but it’s fine, he thinks, these weren’t important plans set in stone. Tony does that, mixes up Steve’s plans and thoughts. Most of the time, Steve doesn’t mind, loves it even.

Tony runs into Steve in the elevator. He’s coming from, somewhere – he doesn’t tell, and Steve doesn’t ask. He’s wearing nothing special. He might have been fiddling with something in his workshop, or one of his labs, or he was coming from a date, or job thing, or anywhere really. He takes one look at Steve, who is standing in front of the elevator. Smiles a Tony Stark-smile, but it’s weak, and cracking in the edges. He steps out of the elevator, and stands close to Steve, but not really. There’s an infinitely wide gap between them, as if they were standing on two mountaintops next to each other, able to see one another, but unable to say or communicate in anyway. But, Steve thinks, that’s perhaps how Tony wants it to be, or maybe he doesn’t know how to climb to Steve’s mountain top, or he isn’t sure how to tell Steve that he doesn’t know how to get down, and he needs help. Today, though, Steve’s mind is too slow, and too unfocused to figure out which option it is, and if he should even care.

“How you doin’?” Tony says, clearly referencing something Steve hasn’t seen or read or whatever yet. He doesn’t bother to ask, because he feels like Tony won’t have the energy to explain. His voice is tired, but not sleepy-tired, Tony is trying his best, Steve thinks, to cover up the tired notes in his speech.  

“I’m fine. How about you?”

“Fine, fine as always. Where you headed, Cap?”

“I’m going out for a walk.”

“Ah”, Tony says, and looks somewhere in Steve’s direction, but not at him, he swallows. “Can I join you?”

There is a pained silence for a moment, and then a _yes_ , and then another thick cloud of silence as they ride the elevator to the ground level together.

“Where you want to walk?” Tony asks, as he slips on a pair of sunglasses. They’re on Stark tower’s first floor, where the lobby is. Steve can see a small pool of paparazzi waiting outside, visibly becoming exited and happy as they spot him and Tony walking towards them. The glasses Tony puts on, Steve notes, look beautiful, slick design, sharp, most definitely expensive; Tony looks more energized in them, as if the pair of sunglasses just gave him a caffeine boost. His walk becomes more brisk, confident, and Steve feels annoyed by Tony’s swaggering walk, because of the way it juxtaposes with his own mood, and because he knows that it’s completely fake. The sunglasses just divert the attention from his tired eyes, and worried lips. The walk, Steve had once concluded, stems from Tony’s child- and teenhood, where he learned to fake how to look like he’s doing fine, and on top of the world, when in reality, his mind was so down in the mud, he felt like he was drowning in it. But, then again, how would Steve know, he’s just guessing. The walk annoys him anyway. Steve’s on edge, and he regrets a bit, that he allowed Tony to join him. But, _intellectually_ he knows that later, when the cloud of whatever it is, that’s casting a shadow over his mood, passes, he’d regret more not allowing Tony to come, because he likes Tony. He likes Tony too much even, Steve thinks. Sometimes he enjoys Tony’s company all too much.

Actually, _intellectually_ , Steve knows that whatever he does or doesn’t do when Tony is concerned, he will regret it. The paparazzi, though, now they’re a problem, and Steve wonders how they can shake them off. The paparazzi don’t really bother Steve that much, he really doesn’t do interesting stuff in public, at least when he’s alone, and there’s just so many pictures and articles one can make about Captain America running the same lap 25 times in a row. Tony, on the other hand, attracts paparazzi, reporters, and every media personnel, like flowers attract bees.

“Oh, I really hadn’t planned on anything specific.” Steve fleetingly wonders, if Tony finds dealing with the media at all enjoyable, as far as Steve can tell, Tony doesn’t, but at least knows how to handle them. That’s one step up from Steve.

He once got so confused when a reporter asked him what he thought about the LGBT-community. He hadn’t known what the acronym meant, and why his opinion of the community was important, but he didn’t get the chance to ask, because someone – _Was it Tony? I can’t remember_ – deflected the question on his behalf and started talking about something else. It was good, that he hadn’t asked what the letters stood for, he doesn’t even like to think about how he would have reacted or what he would have said. He researched it when he got the chance to be alone, sure that no one would walk in on him. LGBT, lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgendered people. On some websites, he noticed, some letters, like A or Q or even the plus-sign, had been added to the end, but the stem of the acronym stayed the same. There were several new words he had to look up, and several words that weren’t in the use anymore, as far as he could tell. That was good, Steve had thought, he never quite liked those words – especially when they had left his own mouth, and how they seemed to sour the air around them.

Steve remembers that he had felt light-headed, when reading article after article about LGBT-people, and of their history and plight. Eventually, he had somehow found his way to reading articles about himself in connection with this LGBT-community, how some people thought he was against them, or how he was actually a member of the community, or just people wondering about his thought on the subject. His heart had pounded, fast and hard against his chest, as if it wasn’t sure if it wanted to leap out and fight or run away and hide. Cold shivers had run up and down his spine. He stopped reading and had to go to do something else, physically challenging, after he read an article which said that, surely Captain America couldn’t be against gays, one of his team members was bisexual.

“You mind if I propose something, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s go walk somewhere, where there are a little less people. I think, uh, I think, that’s what would be best for us. Or I mean, now I might be wrong, but I feel, or at least I don’t wanna be bothered by a lot of people right now, and I, I, think you feel the same way. That is, you give that kinda vibe… Now, uh, so what I’m saying is, that let’s take a car, and drive somewhere little less… populated”, Tony glances at Steve over his sunglasses. He has stopped in the middle of the lobby, and Steve is a few steps ahead of him, so he has to turn back around to look at Tony. All the confidence and assurance Tony just had built up in the last few strides evaporate, and his hands twitch, and one of them purposelessly brushes against the middle of his chest. “We wouldn’t need to deal with, that”, he nods towards the front doors.

Steve blinks, and the cloud over his head rumbles, then he himself glances at the pool of people in front of the doors, and looks back at Tony, who looks incredibly vulnerable.

“Sure, that’d be swell.”

\--

They take a red car, which’s name and model Tony tells Steve, even though they mean nothing to him, and then Tony proceeds to explain how fast it can accelerate and how he had it re-painted because its original red-color wasn’t the right kind of red. Tony fills the air with long sentences, and short witty comments. Steve occasionally says something, to help Tony keep the conversation – or semi-monologue – going.

The atmosphere around Tony is warm, it always is, even though Steve could tell that Tony is incredibly tired. He can’t say if something is bothering Tony, or if Steve is just reading too much into it, because he himself feels unbelievably unfocused, and jittered. He stopped hearing the words Tony spew out of his mouth, and settled to simply somewhat focus on his voice, and how it sounds. At times it is energetic, all loud and smiley, and then at other times, it drops to almost a murmur or a fast whisper. Steve almost feels relaxed, and happy, but the dark cloud looming over his mood won’t leave him alone, and he finds him bouncing his right leg, so that the small back bag, containing the pencils and the sketchbook, rustles. Tony doesn’t stop talking, which is nice, but he doesn’t take his sunglasses off, which is less nice. Steve stares mindlessly at the road ahead, and then takes his sketchbook out of his back bag, and lets his hand trace out shapes and lines how it wants.

_That looks like a piece of curly hair._

_This is a still smouldering campfire._

_Oh, and these remind me of the slippers Tony lost under the sofa._

_This here could be Thor’s hammer, I think._

They stop eventually. How long they sat in the car, Steve doesn’t know, it could have been anywhere from hours to just a few minutes, he lost the sense of time sometime between the elevator ride, and the walk to the car. Steve doesn’t know where they are, but somehow, he can’t find the energy to care. It’s a forested area, but there are manmade paths with dark brown sand. There definitely are less people around, but it’s not deserted. Tony looks out of place, his clothes, belongings, and aura breathe success, money, and anxiety. Steve glances at his own clothes, after he stuffs the sketchbook back into the back bag, and thinks that his clothes aren’t any better, even if he is just wearing a light jacket, white long-sleeved shirt, and blue jeans. His shoes are lived in, but still quite new-looking. Tony’s shoes are black leather. Tony drags his shoes on the ground and says something Steve doesn’t hear.

They walk. They choose random paths that take them to open areas, to densely forested places, and to places, where you can hear running water, which makes Tony extremely anxious and uncomfortable. Tony sometimes says something. Tells what kind of bird is singing, and how rare or common it is. Mentions about the weather. Trice he names some plants or trees. At some point they sit down on a bench, under an old tree, which leans over them and whispers occasionally, when a bird sits down on one of its branches. An open view unfolds before them, a small meadow. The wind barely moves anything, and the sky is grey.

“What are you thinking?” Tony says after a while of sitting in silence. He doesn’t look at Steve, just stares straight ahead, the sunglasses still on. They annoy Steve to no end, but he says nothing about them.

A silence stretches between them for a while, and then Steve says:

“I don’t know.” He glances at Tony, who looks extremely uncomfortable. Steve isn’t surprised, Tony isn’t one for hard discussions about feelings and emotions. They have spent enough time alone for Steve to notice, how easily Tony dances around words to avoid speaking about subjects he isn’t comfortable with. Steve doesn’t know what exactly they are going to talk about, but he knows that this occasion is considerably different than any other interaction they have had in the past. But he does have an inkling of what Tony’s getting at.  Somehow it feels incredibly flattering, that Tony is willing to force himself in to this situation.

“Sorry, I’m bad at this”, Tony says. He takes off his sunglasses and massages his temples with his free hand. Steve feels his treacherous heart jumping, as Tony runs his fingers along his goatee. Steve notices, how tense his upper body is, and forcibly relaxes it. He takes the sketchbook out again, and with it a blue ballpoint pen. He opens a new page, and draws a delicate line, then stops and looks at Tony. He wants to say something but as soon as he opens his mouth, he feels something reaching into his mouth and strangling his vocal cords. Steve turns back to his sketchbook, and feels Tony’s eyes fleetingly on him.

“No, it’s okay. You’re doing fine”, Steve eventually chokes out.

“I feel like I’m forcing you to do something you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine. I think I need this, actually,” Steve breathes out. The pen curlicues on the paper. He sketches the start of an eye. A shoulder and an arm. Steve’s eyes are locked on the sketchbook, and he isn’t really thinking about what he’s drawing. _It looks like a person_. He nor Tony say nothing for a while longer. Tony breathes in and out, rhythmically, it doesn’t sound heavy or laboured, just faster than normal. The humanoid figure under Steve’s pen gets a nose and ears. When a blue jay sings, Steve continues:

“Makes it easier. I think you already know. Don’t you?”

Tony places the sunglasses between them on the bench, but then moves them to the other side, so Steve can’t see them anymore. Tony turns more towards Steve, but his eyes dart once in a while to stare at the meadow before them, but they always return to Steve. There’s a careful aura in Tony’s movements, they’re too sharp and short. He lifts his hand to touch Steve on the shoulder, but then doesn’t. The hand settles for a second or two to tap Tony’s chest, before it drops on his lap again.

“I think I do. You want to talk about it? Ask me something? Honestly, there’s a reason for my reputation. I’m a whore, there’s nothing I haven’t tried or at least heard of, so... Oh fuck, sorry”, Tony splutters. He can see how Steve’s pen stops suddenly, how he closes his eyes for a second too long, how his eyebrows knit together. “…I guess, you want to start with something, ah, not explicit? See, I told you I’m bad at this. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize”, Steve says. He draws a few lines; Gives the character eyelashes, a mouth, facial hair.

“I just feel – I feel like I’m, I’m being selfish”, Steve says, and his voice feels skinned, and too high, but sounds steady, and low, “like I’m stealing something, something I don’t need or deserve. Thinking about what I want, it – it makes me so darned happy. I feel like I’m floating. But I don’t think I deserve to get happiness like – like that… Do you know what I mean? Like, somehow I’m hurting others because I’m such a bad person – wanting something so selfish like that.”

Steve stops drawing. The pen feels cold and clammy in his hand, and it slips on the page leaving behind a trail of blue spots. He looks at Tony. His eyes are brown, and sad. It’s such a clash; Brown is such a warm color, but all Steve sees in them is blue. Tony’s mouth twitches, and he licks his teeth, mouth opening a bit. Steve thinks he’s abhorrent for finding Tony sexy in such a state of mind.

“What do you mean? I don’t think you’re being selfish. It isn’t selfish or bad or in any way wrong to want something good for yourself. Pursuing happiness is a human right, you know, and wanting happiness, no matter what kind of happiness, it isn’t bad. It’s good. You’re good. God’s sake, you’re Captain America! If anyone deserved happiness, it’s you! Want – heck, need! – is not, and will never be wrong. And you aren’t selfish. You’re not. There’s nothing wrong with you, Steve, you’re not hurting anyone.” Tony’s voice rises at the middle and drops to a warm comfort at the end. He gives a Steve a hopeful and encouraging smile. His hands are shaking ever so slightly, Steve notes.

“I know. I know. It’s just –", Steve starts, and turns his face towards the meadow. Someone is walking on the other side of it, but they’re walking further away. A flash of panic washes over Steve, and it runs through his body as a strong shiver. Steve closes his eyes forcefully and runs his hand through his hair. Steve’s startled when Tony grabs his other hand, and the pen drops to the ground, next to Steve’s feet. Neither of them bend down to pick it up. Steve turns to look back at Tony. Determination fills his body.

“I’m gay. I’m homosexual. Gay”, he says in his ‘Captain America’ -voice. It feels weird to say something like that in the voice he uses for giving orders. He sounds like an authority. It’s ridiculous, and a wave of bliss and tranquillity hits Steve. He laughs, breathy, full. Tony smiles, and squeezes his hand, and puts his other hand on top of Steve’s hand as well, so he’s holding one of Steve’s hand with both of his. Tony doesn’t laugh, but he looks less tired, as if an iceberg of worry just melted away from his heart.

“I have never said that out loud”, Steve says.  

“That’s amazing, Steve.”

Steve runs his free hand over the drawing. He huffs a strangled laugh out. The sky is still grey, but the sun tries harder to push through the cloud cover. Steve is thankful that Tony’s there, with him. And he’s happy that Tony’s always there, to mix up his plans. He wouldn’t be here, if it wasn’t for Tony. Steve feels how hot Tony’s hands are, and how they shake ever so slightly. But it is getting better, and to be honest, Steve prefers animated Tony. Tony can’t be static, Steve thinks, he has to be on the move constantly, Tony’s hands shaking was just one thing more to help Steve ground himself.

Tony keeps looking at Steve, not his eyes or his face, but his hands, or the wrinkles in his jacket. Steve lifts his eyes from the ground and lets his gaze wonder in the surrounding meadow. The wind picks up a bit, and the branches and the foliage of the tree behind them whispers a few songs for them. Tony says nothing, he just holds one of Steve’s hands and it doesn’t seem like he will let go anytime soon, or maybe never, Steve wouldn’t mind. It smells nice, Steve realizes, and breathes the clean air in. It’s fresher than the city air he is used to. It reminds him of some old distant memories, that he can’t quite recall at the moment. Sometimes, when the wind turns, the faint smell of Tony’s aftershave lingers around Steve for a while.

The rollercoaster of feelings keeps on going, and the content blissfulness in Steve metamorphoses into bitter mixture of happiness, anger, and sadness. Mainly sadness, the bittersweet kind.

“Tony, am I bad? Am I being selfish?”

“Steve”, Tony says. Steve turns to look at Tony, who has crept closer, and their eyes meet. Tony nods, and looks at Steve from under his eyelashes. Keeping eye contact is hard for him, Steve notices, it usually isn’t. Tony’s eyes run between his hands and Steve’s eyes. His voice shivers in the gentle wind, and it’s lower and shyer than usually:

“I’m proud of you. You are not being selfish, Steve. You are the best man I know. It’s not wrong to want something, especially, when it’s about your private life. You’re allowed to want and to take. You’re not a bad person. You’re not selfish. You are the absolute opposite of selfish, Steve.”

Steve smiles. He says nothing. He keeps turning Tony’s words around in his head, and believes them. But, he knows, that this is an issue he will not outgrow in one afternoon, or evening – _what’s the time anyway?_

“The world is just so different. Back in my time… Back then, you couldn’t be openly queer. The words we used, how we talked about people like, like me – like you – I hate it. I hate it. And I guess, that’s why, I feel like this. Like I don’t deserve to be me, or to be happy. Because I’m disgusting and effeminate, and, and inverted. I know – I can analyse it to the end of the world, why I think and feel the way I do, but – I don’t want to anymore. I just want to be. Be me and be happy and content”, Steve says. Tony nods understandingly and waits for Steve to continue.  

“How – how can you just be? Be who you are, and not hate yourself? Did you hate yourself before? Do you still?” Steve asks, and Tony moves one of his hands away, so he can lean on it.

“I don’t hate myself. At least, because of my sexuality”, Tony says. There’s a pause, and Steve can practically hear Tony thinking what to say next. The wind grows stronger and pushes through Steve’s jacket and creeps into his pant legs. It feels cold, and it must be quite late, because the meadow looks darker now, and the sky has grown to be a deeper shade of grey with tinges of orange and red.  

“I know it’s hard for some people to accept themselves. I can only imagine how you feel. But I, I don’t hate myself because I like guys, too. And you shouldn’t either. I don’t think anyone who you are close to could hate you because you’re gay… At first it was hard, for me, to accept or to even realize it. I tried to hide and forget about it. I would only be with girls, and I thought that I was predatory for even thinking about holding someone’s hand. I guess I’m lucky to an extent, since I’m bi. I could hide it, and I still liked girls. But that’s no living. Hiding like that and being ashamed. It’s just not”, Tony says. He pauses for a moment, and then says:

“But don’t think that I’m lucky that I’m bisexual, like I can just choose who I like and who I want to be with. It doesn’t work like that. I do have a preference for girls, I won’t lie about that, I just do. It made it easier, I guess. I could focus on that, act like I was straight. But once in a while I’d see some guy, and just fall for him. I’d fall head over heels for some guys and I would feel so confused. I didn’t realize you could like both, you know, I thought I was the only one. It must have been different for you… I think you’re so brave for even letting yourself admit to yourself, and now to me, that you’re gay. That’s always the hardest step. It’s gets easier after this. I promise. And I will always be here, if you need me to. I won’t let you fall.”

Steve wants to go, but his legs won’t move. Tony’s hand feels warm against his skin, and Steve finds his thumb drawing lazy circles onto the back of Tony’s hand. This is what he has been fantasizing about, or at least one of the things he has daydreamed of. It’s amazing, that Tony doesn’t push his hand away. Steve feels extremely young and unsure, but over all happy; Tony understands and supports him. Tony’s like him, and that’s okay.

“You know my dad, grade-A homophobe, he knew, I don’t know how, maybe he found my stash of magazines or whatever. When I was, I think I was fourteen, he gave me this short drunken speech, how he couldn’t have a son who was a homo. That really hurt me, but it really pushed me to be who I am, as well. In a twisted way. In my twenties I came out, properly, to everyone. I really rubbed his nose in it. I wanted to show to him, I guess, that I didn’t care what he thought about me. I would be with a lot of guys and girls, made sure everyone knew. That’s not living either, I was doing it for other people, not for me, but it was fun for a while. I’m happy I grew over that phase of my life. I don’t know if he ever came around. I wish – I hope he did. And I wish I would have been more understanding, tried to help him to understand, and that he would have been more understanding in the first place, I wish that the most”, Tony says, and keeps on talking. Steve feels sad for Tony. He hears himself in Tony’s words. Steve bends down to pick up the blue ballpoint pen.

He still holds Tony’s hand, when he puts the pen between the pages of his sketchbook, and clumsily tucks them into his back bag. Tony’s chatter fills Steve’s head, and his heart. A gooey happiness oozes out of Tony’s hand into Steve’s bloodstream, and it soon fills his whole body. Steve smiles, and thinks that he doesn’t have to be in control all the time, and that some lines in his life he can learn to cross over, and erase.

“Are you cold? I’m cold”, Tony says, and stands up. He pulls Steve up as well, and soon after lets go of Steve’s hand, but it doesn’t matter. It’s almost like a non-verbal promise, that Tony will wait for Steve, with open arms.

Tony forgets the sunglasses on the bench, and Steve notices, but says nothing. Tony Stark can afford new sunglasses.

“Thank you, Tony”, Steve says. And Tony flashes him a real, beautiful, smile.


End file.
